Loved
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: Every word on his tongue is inadequate, so he holds her, rubs her back, acts like he has everything under control because her world is in shambles and that's what she needs. Tiva. Oneshot.


_I don't mind spending every day_

_Out on your corner in the pouring rain_

_Look for the girl with the broken smile_

_Ask her if she wants to stay a while_

_-Maroon 5, "She Will Be Loved"_

"Hello," Ziva says shyly.

He hadn't been expecting her. Or anybody else, for that matter- it's half past eleven. Feeling silly, he hides his gun behind his back. "Hey. Uh… come in." He backs away, and Ziva steps inside his apartment, shutting the door behind her.

"You look like you were sleeping," she says, taking in his pajama pants, t-shirt, and rumpled hair. "I am sorry-"

"It's fine," Tony interrupts. He crosses the room and puts the gun back in its box. Only when he turns around does he notice that there is a fleece blanket tucked neatly under her arm. "You staying the night?"

She opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water. Her eyes are wide. Almost desperate. "If… if that is okay."

"Of course it is," he says quickly. He comes to stand a couple feet in front of her. "Kinda surprised, though. Last time you were here, you couldn't wait to leave."

Ziva purses her lips. "Tony, I acted very ungrateful-"

"I don't want an apology," he interrupts gently. "But I know something's wrong. You wouldn't show up here for no reason." Daring to take one additional step forward, he grasps her upper arms. "What happened?" Her eyes dart all over the room until he says her name a little forcefully. "_Ziva_."

She inhales deeply. "Another nightmare."

Although he hadn't quite known what to expect, this doesn't surprise him. He moves his thumbs back and forth against the thick fleece of her jacket. "You had a lot of those lately?"

"A few," she says, stubbornly staring at a spot to his left, and he can almost _see_ her putting her guard back up, and it's as if she is wrenching her hand out of his all over again. So he moves into her line of sight, leaving her no choice but to look at him. A moment later, she sighs and relents. "The one that you woke me from was about Somalia. Most of them are. Tonight… tonight was different."

He is _pained_ by the words she uses. _Most of them_. After all that she's been through, hasn't she earned a form of escape? Shouldn't she be able to sleep in peace? "Tell me," he urges.

She draws in a shaky breath. "I saw… my family. My parents and Tali and Ari. And… they just started disappearing. Vanishing. In the order that I lost them. My father was last, of course, and… and then it was just me. I woke up, Tony… I woke up, and… nothing was different. That dream is my reality now."

"Ziva," he whispers. A tear creeps down her cheek, and he lifts a hand to wipe it away. She soon begins to shake; Tony guides her head into his shoulder. He doesn't know what else to do for her.

"I am the only one left," she chokes out. "I am thirty years old and my family is gone. Things are not supposed to work this way."

Tony twists her ponytail around his fingers. "No. They're not."

She sighs, releasing a hot breath against his neck. Every word on his tongue is inadequate, so he holds her, rubs her back, acts like he has everything under control because her world is in shambles and that's what she needs. Someone to lean on. A rock.

"I did not want to be alone tonight," she mutters eventually, looking up at him while keeping her arms tight around his torso.

"Yeah." He swipes some hair out of her face. "Get some sleep. You can take my bed again."

"That is not necess-"

"Ziva."

He must be wearing a stern expression, because she nods once and slowly disentangles herself from him. Then she walks backwards in the direction of the bedroom; as she reaches it, she quietly says, "Thank you."

Tony gives her a small, somewhat forced smile. "Anytime."

She shuts the door behind her. He stays where he is for another few seconds before flopping onto the couch, groaning as his back pops painfully.

0000000000

At around five-thirty the next morning, he is awakened by Ziva's feet slapping against his hardwood floor. He listens as she pauses, presumably to put on her shoes, and then exits his apartment. It's stupid, but he's disappointed. They have work today; she has to go home and get ready. She came here because she needed to get through the night, but the night is over now. His job is done.

And Tony almost has himself convinced that he's not bothered by her leaving without saying goodbye when the door opens and she reenters with a small backpack. He focuses on evening out his breathing. Either he does a good job or Ziva doesn't care about his faking enough to call him out on it, because she doesn't say anything to him. She enters the bathroom. He turns onto his other side.

The alarm on his phone blares at ten until six. Tony turns it off and gets up. "Ziva?" he calls. "You about done in there?"

The door opens, and the Ziva he is used to seeing at the office emerges- slacks, blouse, high ponytail. There are no tear tracks on her cheeks or bags under her eyes. There is _no_ evidence, really, of what happened late last night. "Here," she says. "Go ahead. It is my turn to bring coffee, so I'm going to leave."

"Oh," Tony says, caught off guard- and then she surprises him _again_ by pressing a swift kiss to his cheek.

"I will see you at work, yes?" she murmurs.

"Yeah."

She looks like she has something else to say- _please, Ziva_- but appears to decide against it. Without another word, she lets herself out.

0000000000

Tony spends the day waiting.

He waits for an acknowledgement, an explanation. He waits for Ziva to elaborate on how she slept or whether she feels better or why he was the one she came to last night.

_Hell._ What he's really waiting for is for her to look directly at him. Because she hasn't done that so far today, and that probably needs to happen before anything else can.

In the early afternoon, she goes to the restroom. She's been gone for a minute or two when he decides that enough is enough and practically leaps from his chair. "Be right back."

"Can you and Ziva please not spend too much time playing grab-ass in there?" McGee asks irritably from his computer, where he's been trying to access an encrypted file for the past hour.

"Relax, McGrumpy," Tony calls over his shoulder as he walks off. "Not like we can help you with that techno-geek stuff anyway."

The response comes in the form of indistinct mumbling. He doesn't bother verifying what was said; by now, he is rounding the corner. A few more steps, and he is standing in front of the women's restroom. Nobody answers his knock, which he takes to mean that Ziva is the only one in there.

"I'm coming in," he announces, and pushes open the door.

Ziva is washing her hands at the sink, her head already turned toward him when he appears. She looks annoyed. "Tony, what-"

"Stop." He is startled at his own sharpness. Judging by the quick ascent of her eyebrows, she seems to be, too. But something is surging within him now, something like anger. _He_ needs to have this conversation. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing _what_?" she snaps, turning off the water.

Tony turns to the paper towel dispenser, roughly pulls one down, and gives it to her. He waits until she has dried her hands before continuing. "You came to my apartment. Willingly. You were upset. And we're just not gonna talk about it?"

She clenches her jaw, crosses her arms. "What is there to talk about, Tony?"

"I'm worried about you."

"Don't be."

"I don't get why you find it so damn important for everybody to believe you're fine."

"I _am_ fine!"

The outburst renders them both speechless, and its echo becomes the only sound in the bathroom. She pinches the bridge of her nose and ducks her head. Tony's heart thaws at the sudden vulnerability she displays. Even so, it is a struggle to keep his voice soft and calm. "Ziva, you were right last night when you said that your family being gone is your reality. You need somebody. I am ready to be that person for you as soon as you're ready to let me."

"I know," she says hoarsely, lifting her face just in time for him to see it crumble. "I know that. It is just… it is not easy for me."

"Doesn't have to be hard." Hesitantly, he reaches for her hand and is slightly startled when her fingers seize his first. He takes one more risk by pulling her forward. She doesn't need any more prompting; she plants her face in his chest, and he winds his arms around her waist.

This is more or less the same position they were in fourteen hours ago, he notes silently, and he has the exact same feeling he did before- like he's holding together the fragile pieces of his partner.

Ziva sighs. "I have never been as honest with anybody in my adult life as I have been with you over the past few months. Having this level of openness… I am still adjusting." She pauses, then adds: "You are very, very good to me, Tony. That is another thing I am not used to."

"Well, get used to it," he murmurs, and finds himself kissing her temple. Her eyelids drift downward at the touch. "I'm not the best man in the world, but I can try to be."

She lifts her head and meets his gaze. "Actually," she whispers, "I do not think you have to try. At all."

0000000000

"Hello," Ziva says, but she's not shy now.

Other things are different about this visit, too. This time, he _is_ expecting her, and it's a more respectable hour, and she comes bearing Chinese food. He flashes her a grin as she comes inside, then watches her plop everything down on the coffee table. "You get my sweet and sour sauce?"

"I wouldn't dare show myself without it," she quips.

Chuckling, he sits on the couch, and she sits beside him, just close enough that their arms brush. She hands him his carton and a pair of chopsticks before digging into her own. They eat in companionable silence. He like this- spending time with her outside of work- a _lot_.

"You know," she says suddenly, "my father never let me have my own pony, but he did teach me to ride them."

Tony glances at her, surprised by her voluntary sharing. He's also having a hard time envisioning Eli David going horseback riding. "Yeah?"

Ziva nods.

"Tell me about that," he prods gently, not really expecting her to.

But she smiles. And then begins.

"I was eight…"

**Hope you enjoyed! Leave me a review, pretty please?**


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